Текст песни Majdanek Waltz - Роза смерти

Low-low, tasty souls,
The lunar ball is sailing over the booth.
And from the boulevard under the body of the vest
Waves carousel with the hands of the ladies.

And spring, bottomless Pink,
Smiling, retreating in the tie,
Reveals the dark blue fan
With the inscription clearly: death.

B. Poplavsky